The Road Race of the Reluctant Werewolf
by M. Night Wolfalona
Summary: A remake of the movie, w/o Scrappy or Googie. The werewolf retires before the race, so just who, in fact, will take her place? Eventual Shelma, Fraphne on the side. Be warned-may not be updated for long periods of time. NEW CHAPTER UP! R&R please.
1. Hello, and Welcome to the Prologue

**Hello YET AGAIN, my naughty cougars (WHIPLASH). I know that I shouldn't be starting another story, not when I haven't finished my mini-series yet, but I can't help it. I'm so very naughty for it, I know, I know, but I really can't help it. It's a very serious disease that I have, unfinish-itis (sorry for what it may sound like in another part of the word, it is not intentional, so please forgive me for it. Thanks :D). Ah, oh well. So HERE it is, and I hope that you enjoy it anyway ;).**

**I have decided to take a leaf out of one of Evelyn Knight's online books, and recreate one of my newest yet oldest and first ever favorites of the Scooby Movies: Scooby Doo and the Reluctant Werewolf. Only W/O Scrappy or Googie. Now chances are that I shall redo this movie with MANY various endings/plotlines/spinoffs/alternate choices or mishaps, simply because Shaggy is just so cute as a werewolf. Don't you agree? If you don't know what he looks like as one, I suggest that you rent the movie and watch it. THEN you'll agree w/me. Or else (Just kidding. Otherwise who else would review me stories?). ;P**

**Well, I certainly hope that you will enjoy this fanfic, where I will be making a special guest appearance in later chapters, as well as some of my other friends! Please R&R w/suggestions for new titles, and feedback. Or even just to be nice. You can also flame. So Please Review? Okay. Well, I'll go now. Toodles! Oh, and ONE more ****_itty-bitty_**** thing:**

**_PLEASE REVIEW!!_**

**That is all. Bye!**

**DISCLAIMER: "Scooby Doo" and other such affiliates belong to Hanna-Barbera and Warner Brothers, as does some of the dialogue used in this fic from "SD & the Reluctant Werewolf". I, however, belong to myself and the CBS network, and the plot twists belong to JUST me, no matter WHAT the squirrels may say about it.**

**Hope you Enjoy! And see you soon!  
Wolfy**

* * *

**Hello, and Welcome to the Prologue**

Our story here today begins with many things. The sounds of the roaring crowd echo throughout the stadium as heat waves ripple off the racetrack, and the unholy shrieks of long-forgotten ghosts chill the misty grounds of the graveyard nearby, neither of which are anywhere near each other locationally-wise. But plotwise, they are almost completely fused together; and the fates of several souls are intertwining together as I speak.

But enough about the beginning. I'm stalling too much already for dramatic effect, so let's start things off with the much more interesting story that's happening now along the racetrack, as one car in particular starts to pull ahead in the final ten laps of the Tyler County 500...

**?0--0?**

Waves of heat rippled across the track as the cars sped by, the checkered flag waving furiously as it signaled the last ten laps of the pretentious Tyler County 500 Road Race, and the cue for the announcers to start up their commentary yet again.

_"Helllllllllooooo fans, and welcome back to the Tyler County 500 Road Race, where we have just started on the final ten laps of the competition. It sure is getting hot out here as the tempers and the temperature rises on the track, to a record-breaking 103 degrees. The competitors are getting testy as they jocky for the lead, and for that schmitzy gold-plated first place racing trophy, a fine addition to any personal trophy cabinet." _

_"That is certainly true. I mean, have you seen that thing Don? It's no wonder that racers from all across the country have entered into this Nascar-esque competition, hoping to win. And the driver of one fast-approaching ruby-red racecar is certainly no exception to this standard." _

And as he spoke, this same said car zoomed ahead, taking the curve sharply as it maneuvered swiftly around the competition, the stadium lights bouncing off the smooth and shiny robustly-red paint job, sparkling slightly off of the asleek neon blue-and-purple racing flames, and off of the brilliant black-and-purple-streaked leather seats; on which two people (or rather, one talking dog and one rather skinny young man) were seated, the force of the wind pushing them back into place. Their navy blue helmets glinted as they caught the sun at the curve, shooting ahead of the competition, the rush of speed pounding in their veins. This was what they had been made to do: to go as fast as was humanly (or dog-aly) possible, and to win by any **legal** means necessary.

As the pair steadily approached the other racers, two other drivers that were up ahead were brutally battling it out, each trying to push the other off the track and into the wall, with only a tiny space between the two giant automobiles. The two in the red flamer looked at each other, if only a brief glance, as they each interpreted the situation at hand; before, finally, turning to each other yet again for another terse nod, braced themselves for what was to come next, blocking out all of the noise that overflowed from the edges of the stadium nearby, and that came from the two really obnoxious and annoying commentators, who blathered on, even though nobody was ever really listening.

_"Yes, this talented young driver that's fast approaching these harsh two competitors up ahead in the speedy little hot red hot rod is none other then one of the famous detectives of Mystery Inc., Norville 'Shaggy' Rogers, the son of the esteemed police chief Samuel Chastain Rogers, who is commonly seen racing with his best friend and pet, Scoobert 'Scooby' Doo, another detective and a marvel in himself. Say Frank, have you ever seen another talking dog anywhere else but in Mystery Inc.?"_

_"Actually Don, Scooby Doo comes from a long line of talking canines. Ever hear of his nephew Scrappy? Or his famous movie star cousin Howdy Doo in the western kid shows?"_

_"Oh yeah. Real popular. Never really liked Scrappy though. Annoying little runt. But let's get back to the race Frank, cause it looks like somethin's goin' on down there. It looks like there's no way to get between those two Cresdan brothers, even with that little number he calls the FireDog, but this young lad's gonna try. But how is he gonna do it?"_

And it was as he said this that the body of the car shot upward, the wheels pulling closer together, still firmly in place on the ground, as they squeezed in between the two monster trucks and sped ahead, soon plummeting back down to the track with a ferocious _**thud**_, and skyrocketing past them, jarring the two riders of the road inside the car enough to make their teeth clack; that is, if they weren't wearing any mouthpieces, which they indeed were wearing. The crowd cheered as the two zoomed by their section, chanting their names in a vaguely hypnotic and overenthusiastic manner. By one of these sections was the pit crew and pit stop of the FireDog, who, by far, were cheering the loudest. AKA: the rest of the gang of Mysteries Incorperated.

Fred and Velma cheered the two on as the cowardly pair approached the turn, while Daphne grumbled, slightly annoyed as she pulled out her hairbrush for the umpteenth time that very day. "Uugh," she groaned, tugging the brush through her hair roughly. "Why do they have to go so fast? My hair is a wreck, and I can't fix it without someone zooming by and making it even worse then it already is!"

"Aw, c'mon, Daph, this is really exhilarating! It makes your heart pound and your blood rush like there's no tomorrow!" Fred exclaimed with a loud _**WHOOP!**_ as the guys sped past them, a red-and-blue blur on the tar-black asphalt. "And who'd've thought that Shag and Scoob would be this good and this creative when it came to racing cars?"

"Well, it does make sense, Fred," Velma commented, adjusting her precription goggles against the glare bouncing off the passing cars. "They've always been guys for speed, so what better way to get it? Besides, they **had** to learn how to work on cars, so that when the Mystery Machine broke down, _**we**_ wouldn't go searching for help and run into monsters and ghosts in the process of it!"

"That's certainly true," Daphne grumbled, "I just wish that my hair wasn't a victim of it." And they all laughed, just as the guys pulled in for a quick refresher at the pit stop. The gang rushed forward, tools in hand, as Velma had a really quick word with them.

"You guys okay?"

Shaggy stuck his helmet-covered head out the window, flipping the visor up to reveal a sweaty, but exhilerated face as he spat out his mouthpiece. "Yeah! Like this is one of the best races yet! I can't think of another that could ever top it! Except like if I ever raced in Nascar or somethin'." This entire speech was blurred, as he was still on his speed high.

Scooby poked his head out through the same window, flipping up the visor on his helmet as well, his mouthpiece hanging lazily out of the side of his mouth. "Reah! Rike Rascar or romething," he garbled, as Shaggy pushed him back into his seat, turning his attention back to Velma.

"Look out for Denton, he's got a trunkful of garbage that's most probably spring-loaded to trip you up. Oh, and Haverstein's got something up his sleeve, but we haven't been able to find out what it is so be careful, okay?" This speech, too, was blurred with speed; only the reason for this was out of necessity, not road rush.

"Kay thanks bye!" The stench of burning rubber filled the air as the triple-piston turbo titanium engine roared. A screeching sound was heard as the tires briefly battled the asphalt's friction.

And the two were off on the Final Five laps.

The FireDog rounded the curve, pulling up behind what was rather egotistically called "The Denton-Gator" **(a play off of 'The Terminator' if you didn't get that)**. It was a squat, fat, reptilian-green car, with a sickeningly colored yellow racing stripe that reminded one of rotting garbage. The driver, Gus Denton, was, unsurprisingly, like his car: fat, short, and incredibly smelly. His teeth were rotting out of his head, and so was his brain. The only thing that he was good at was driving in car races, and finding out ways to cheat at them so he'd win. Unsurprisingly, he was from the deep southern bayous of Louisiana. He even had a pet alligator. And he was as slick and oily as Fluffy was after a nice long mud bath on a hot and humid summer afternoon **(and yes, the gator's name is Fluffy. Hahaha, what an idiot, hahaha, and so on)**.

Well, anyway, back to the race. As the hot red hot rod pulled up behind the Gator, it began to swerve wildly across the track, yet still gaining ground. Everytime the two tried to pass him he'd cut them off. The announcers chose this time to cut in, rather annoyingly, yet again.

_"Well Don, looks like the favorite of the crowd Shaggy Rogers is stuck behind the driver of that ghastly Gator Gus Denton from the deepest swamps of Lous-iana. Now that is one clever son of a gun I tell ya. There seems to be no way around him, and now what's going on down there?"_

Shaggy stuck his head out the window as he pulled up briefly next to the fat smelly slob **(A/N: No offense to anyone from Louisiana. It's actually a very nice place. I'm just following stereotypes here, so don't hurt me!)**. "Hey Denton," he yelled. "Like, why don't you get that bucket of scraps off the tra-AHH-ack!" For the Ghastly Gator had swerved over in front of his path, forcing Shaggy to pull back. "HEY!"

"Ya betta watch who ya talkin' to-a, boy-yeh. Or yall be slime-eed by-ya me, ya stoopid sons-a bitches, YEA-OWA!" The slobbish man shot back, barely heard over the rushing wind; but still heard well enough.

"Rike, rook rhose ralking, rug-breath!" Scooby howled back at him, with a rather resentful tone in his words; even though his mother was technically a--well, a you-know-what--, it was still a really hurtful insult. Besides, Scooby's mother was a perfectly lovely female of a Great Dane, and very sweet. And it was now that one of the announcers came in again:

_"Frank it looks like there's some attempt at communication between the two drivers, probably just some smack talk, and what's that coming out of that car's tail--er, trunk--yeeah, whatever, I don't really care anymore, but still, what the hell is that goop coming out of the back?" _

For, at that very moment, the trunk-tail had popped open, and spewed literally hundreds of gallons of toxic swampwater sludge and rotting garbage all over the track, while still swerving back and forth violently. Gus Denton looked back, and took a swig of moonshine from his 'water' bottle. "Heh he HAAAH!" he crowed in his thick southern slur. "Let's see ya try ta beat that now, boy-yeow-a! Su-on, yall be da boocket ah scraps, he hah! So lu-ong!"

The ruby red racecar swerved back and forth, desparately trying to avoid the slimy patches of filth that was splayed, almost artistically, across the racetrack. "Riiiiiiiikes!" Scooby yelped, as an old boot bounced off of the windshield. "Raggy! Rhat are re roing ro do?"

The slender beatnik sat and thought for a second, as he continued to dodge the random pieces and patches of trash and filth. "There's no way to get past him, Scoob. Like, there's only a small space on each side of him that would only fit half of the--" And that's when the idea struck him. Through his visor on his helmet, you could tell that he was nervous. But it was a rush that made his heart pound furiously at the very thought of it.

"Okay. I got it. Scoob, like, do you remember what we installed recently? The 'Fred' trigger?"

"Ruh?" Then it hit him like an ill-thrown frisbee. "R'Oh! Reah, reah." He nodded his big floppy (and helmeted) head emphatically.

"Alright then. Like, on my signal--" Shaggy swerved violently to avoid an old gumbo pot that clattered noisily across the road-- "Move to the farthest side of the car, and hold on. Okay?"

"Rokay!"

The FireDog had long since fallen back from the Gator, but now, as Shaggy pressed his foot to the floor, it shot ahead, quickly catching up to the tail-end of the car. The announcers (AGAIN) started to ramble as he caught up, directly behind the ghastly green glob that was said to be a car and a man.

_"Now Frank, what is that young kiddo doing?"_

_"I dunno Don, but it looks as if he's planning on makin' a million-dollar crash today on the track! Close your eyes folks, cause this ain't gonna be pretty."_

"What is he doing!?" Fred cried out as the cars sped by him. "He's gonna crash!"

"Oh, I can't watch!" Daphne cried, as she buried herself into Fred's chest. "Tell me when it's over Freddie, please!"

"Jinkies, I can't watch either! Oh no!" Velma buried her face into her hands, allowing two fingers to part so that she could peak at what was happening, no matter how horrible it could turn out to be.

The entire stadium seemed to be doing the same thing, and even old Gator Gus flopped a fat hand over the eye watching the rearview mirror. A hush came over the entire crowd, and all that remained was the roar of the engines, as they waited for the wrenching sound of a hideously deformed car crash to echo throughout the stands. And so the countdown began...

_**...5...**_

"Get ready Scoob! Scooch over to the window and like, hold on tight, cause this is gonna be rough!"

"Rokay Raggy!"

_**...4...**_

"Oh no! They're gonna crash for sure!" Daphne wailed into Fred's t-shirt.

_And I never got to tell Shaggy how I felt about him_, Velma thought, her mind numb as she stared on, both helplessly and hopelessly (and unbeknownst to her, cluelessly too.).

_**...3...**_

"Awoh, crap!" Gator Gus swore as he downed the rest of the moonshine in one gulp. "This is gonna hurt like hot Satan Hell on a Toos-dee aftearnoon at Grangeen's Bar-Bee-Q!"

The entire crowd gasped. The gang closed their eyes, and Scooby whimpered as he cowered against the passenger-side window, tail quivering like no tomorrow, for which the case could've been true for at that very moment.

_**...2...**_

Shaggy just sat there calmly, gathering his concentration, tendril by meek and lonesome tendril, from the depths of his mind. He breathed in deeply, and let it out slowly, as the sound faded from the world. He slowly began to make the final steps for the new feature to be activated upon instantaneous...um...activation. His hand laid gently upon the final gear. This was it. No turning back now.

He let out his breath. Hopefully this would work. If it didn't, well...hopefully the majority of his skin could be replaced or regrown.

_**...1...**_

_"Hold on folks! This is gonna hurt!" _The enitire stadium braced themselves for the screeching sound of metal twisting and colliding as it struck another.

_**0.**_

**_"SPLIT!"_** The beatnik roared, and he pulled the gearshift back hard, jamming down on the button at the top. The sounds of several levers and gears clicking and pulling back was heard like thunder as his voice echoed throughout stands. And the crowd watched eagerly, wondering what he meant.

They were in for quite a shock. And so they were when the car broke apart into two halves.

Or, for lack of a better phrase, the car "split up". One half with Shaggy, one half with Scooby, each balanced precariously on two wheels as they each maneuvered around one side of the Ghastly Gator, and each smiling and waving at the drunken Louisiananian as they passed him. Gus Denton could just gape at them as they took the lead.

"Wha-what the boggy blue hey-ell isa goin' on heah!?" he finally stammered, his speech slurred by the moonshine now pounding through his system. Scooby stuck his head through the Gator's side window briefly, all the while smiling at the stupid fat man next to him.

"Re're rinning! Re hee he he hee," he giggled, before settling down into his seat yet again, and passing smugly in front of him, still snickering at the old man's expression long after he'd disappeared into the distance behind them.

The two halves were now adjacent to each other on the racetrack, still tilting on one side unsteadily. "SCOOBY DOO!" Shaggy yelled over the roaring sound of the wind rushing by them. "LEAN OVER, WE'RE GONNA JOIN UP THE TWO HALVES, AND IT **HAS **TO JOIN UP PERFECTLY, OR WE'RE DEAD. GOT IT?!"

"RHEEEAAAH!!" Scooby howled back. " RI ROT IT!!"

"OKAY THEN," Shaggy began to pull at several buttons and levers, and a multitude of loud clicking and shiffting noises were heard coming from his half of the car. "LIKE, ON THE COUNT OF THREE. ONE--"

--Scooby crept towards his edge of the car--

"--TWO--"

--The two modicums of car nudged towards each other--

"--THREE!!" And with an explosion of golden sparks, and a whirring of mechanical levers and gears, the car pulled itself together, swerving furiously for a moment, before maintaining its perfectly connected balance of mechanical equilibrium. The crowd roared with excitement, and the rest of the gang breathed out a sigh of relief. They were safe.

For now, at least.

"So," Fred turned to the two girls standing there with their mouths still hanging open, "any idea when they did _that_ to the car?"

They turned to him with twin melting glares, and he instantly regretted saying anything at all. Luckily for Fred, the two annoying announcers broke in to annoy everyone yet again with more unneccessarily annoying commentary about what everybody already annoyingly knew.

_"WOW! May I say, I think that nobody in this stadium has ever seen _that_ happen before today. Have you ever seen anything like this Frank?"_

_"Actually Don, I _**have**_ seen something similar, in the 1987 Tyler _Cross County_ Road Race, when Darren "Doggie-Door" Boolicky got his car cut in half by Chuckie "The Chainsaw" Johnson, and drove his half of the car remaining to the finish line that was 60 yards away, before it tilted over and fell on Chuckie's leg. But of course it didn't put itself together again like that."_

_"...You know Frank, you just ruined that for me. But this is still an amazing feat to remember as the racers begin the final three laps, with young Mr. Rogers in the lead."_

"Hey Scooby," Shaggy turned to his friend, whose head was currently hanging out the window, tongue flopping in the wind. "Like, could you hand me the megaphone please?"

"Ruh?" Scooby pulled his head from the window, his light brown fur extremely ruffled. "Roh reah. Rure thing, Rhaggy. " He pulled the solid lime green and brown-striped megaphone from the back and handed it (pawed it?) to his owner.

"Like thanks buddy."

"No roblem, Rhaggy. R-Glad to relp." And here the announcers butted in _yet again_ **(God, why do I even _have_ these guys? Oh yeah, to move along the plot of the prologue. Crap. Oh well.)** So anyway, these guys had butted in to make comments about what was happening that everyone could see for themselves, when all of a sudden--

_"Wait a minute Don, something seems to be going on in the Rogers' hot rod, he seems to be opening a window and sticking his head outside of it while driving. Just **what** is young Mr. Rogers doing?"_

And it was just as the FireDog rounded the corner nearest to the announcers' stand that the car swivelled around, so that it was being driven backwards, and Shaggy turned on the megaphone, to yell out for the two stupid announcer dudes (and probably the rest of the crowd) to hear him say--

"MY NAME IS SHAGGY!! GET **_THAT_** INTO YOUR FREAKISHLY TINY BRAINS, YOU CHATTERING BABOONS!!" And the entire stadium roared with laughter and approval as he swung the car around and drove onwards ahead, leaving Don and Frank to stare off at the dust he left in their tracks.

_"Well Frank, he sure told us off, now didn't he?"_

_"Yup, he sure did."_

_"Have you ever seen any other driver yell at an announcer like that while still driving?"_

_"Actually Don, I've been yelled at 197 times at 86 different races by 54 separate racers. Some of the same ones were at the other races, actually."_

_"Just shut up Frank."_

And it was now that something began to happen. But let me rewind and describe to you one of the other drivers that Shaggy and Scooby were warned about a little earlier in the story--prologue--chapter--whatever. But anyway, let me describe to you the driver of the small and whiny car called the Carcoon **(like Cocoon? Awoh, whatever, you guys don't care)**, whose name was that of Haverstein. Gaylord Ashley Gilbert Haverstein III. The OverLord of all nerds, geeks, weirdos, freaks, and fanboys.

Gaylord had grown up in a poor home. At the age of 2, his father discovered that he wasn't really Gaylord's father, and ran out on his mother, who'd been forced to become a stripper for money. A lack of attention and a surplus of bullying led Gaylord to turn to comic books, movies, and tv shows such as Star Wars, Star Trek, Batman, and Stargate SG-1 for guidance and comfort. After graduating Harvard at age 16, with a degree in entomology (bugs), he set to work getting revenge on all those who had ever (and still were) bullying or teasing him.

And now, after 17 years of doing exactly that, Gaylord Haverstein was now in search of a girlfriend. And somehow, he'd heard that slutty girls like racecar drivers who win races often **(-shifty eyes- muahahaha)**. So now, his primary purpose in life was to race in races until the slutty girls found him attractive. Not like that would be possible for him. He had the typical "Revenge of the Nerds" type of look, which included a crewcut haircut, pocket protector, khacki pants that were pulled up way too high, almost comically too big glasses, braces on two front beaver-esque buckteeth, and orthepedic shoes. But, as he was an entomologist (dude who studies bugs for a living), all of his clothes were like those that many tourists wear on safaris in Africa: completely khaki and completely tacky.

But anyway, back to the track. Now, for the majority of the race Haverstein had been hanging back around the middle, not really trying to beat anyone, but rather just trying to keep his position. But now, he reared his tacky white-silvery-grey car's engine, and raced ahead of the competition. Including the FireDog.

As the annoyingly bug-like car zipped past the other racers with a buzz not unlike a mosquito's (and just as irritating), both Scooby and Shaggy stuck there heads out the window, flipped up their helmets' visors, and said, simultaneously:

"Ruh?"

As did every other racer on the track. And as did everyone else in the stadium. It was at this point that two announcers _**finally**_ provided some useful (and funny) commmentary for the race.

_"Now what in blue blazes is happening here Don?"_

_"Well Frank, it appears that Gaylord Ashley Gilbert Haverstein the Third--"_

_"-_Snorts- **Gaylord Ashley**_?? What kind of a name is Gaylord Ashley?? It's just ridiculous! Haha Ha!"_

_"While you do have a point there on how gay and ridiculously easy it is to make fun of his name, just shut up Frank. Now, apparently Gaylord Haverstein has been hovering around the inbetween area between racers, and for him to just shoot ahead of the competition means that he definitely has something hidden up his--OH MY GOD!!"_

_"I can say for sure Don, that I have never seen that happen, nor do I ever want to see that happen again." _

And so Frank was right, for what had happened was so disgustingly hideous that it was vomit-inducing, to say the least of what everyone was seeing there that day.

But let me rewind a little bit here (again). As the two announcers were making fun of his name, Gaylord Haverstein had finally had enough. And with a flick of a switch, something amazingly disgusting began to happen:

The car began to expand. And as each passing second went by, it grew bigger and bigger, expanding as if to a steady pulse, while a slick and oily substance coated the car with an ever-increasing thickness, until, just when it took up almost the entire width of the track--

It exploded.

Masses of the hideous gooey green slime coated half the stadium, leaving half of the stadium's occupants screaming as the foul-odored vomit-colored green goo descended upon them, and the other half (which included the gang) thankful that they were nowhere in the near vicinity of the ghastly stuff. The drivers were not as lucky. While their own cars did not get slimed, as it were, the track suddenly became slick and greasy, leaving the majority to spin and swerve dangerously into each other or into the wall, and the other few competitors to struggle for control, falling far behind as they did so. And only then, after everyone had gotten the slime out of their eyes, did they scream with terror.

On the track, in place of Haverstein's old silver-grey Carcoon, stood a massive new vehicle, with a shiny brownish-black paint job, and a sickeningly frightful shape: the Car-Croach. And upon the antenna, balanced precariously, stood Gaylord Haverstein the Third, laughing maniacally as the entire stadium screamed with fright at the ghastly giant now glided smugly ahead of the competition, and at a ridiculously slow pace at that.

"That's right!" Haverstein shrieked in his whiny and nasally voice, now half-insane with power **(as I so often am, but for a much less disgusting reason and/or method)**. "Scream for Gaylord, ladies, because **_I_** am the new winner of the Tyler County 500!! Hehahee haaaaaah!" And the announcers cut in yet again.

_"Well folks, it doesn't look like there's much of a chance for anyone to get past that monstrous thing of a car. It's taking up the entire racetrack, and there's no way past it that I can see. How bout you Frank? You ever see anything like this, or even a way to get by it?"_

_"Sorry to disappoint you Don, but I've never seen anything like this, that's for sure, although I can say that I have now. Now what this guy's done is pure genius, you know why? It's because he's waited until the Final Lap to activate this particular feature, so that no one, and I mean no one, can drive past him and beat him, which means that he is now the most probable winner of this year's Tyler County 500 Road Race. It seems hopeless for any other racer who was hoping to win today, and I see no possible way for any other car to beat this monstrous cockroach...thing."_

And for once, the announcers had a point. There seemed to be nothing that anyone could do to get around this pervy little creep and win the race. But of couse, '_seem'_ is a rather tricky word for this story. Or have you forgotten our heroes so quickly?

I thought so. But anyway, let's move on then, shall we?

Of course we shall. Now, at this point, Shaggy and Scooby were at a loss for words and ideas altogether. For who could've anticipated some measly little bug geek who'd done nothing to try to advance to the leading position shooting ahead and transforming his car into a giant cockroach which took up almost the entire track? Other then me, of course, no one could've known.

Shaggy breathed in deeply, as he tried to keep the fear in his stomach from bubbling up and over (and maybe out). "H-Hey Scoob?" he squeaked. "Li-Like, d-do you see any openings a-ava-available?"

Scooby stuck his head out the window, grimacing and gagging as the smell hit his nose full on. He looked around, holding a paw to his nose, so as to try to keep the stench from being permanently imprinted in his brain. "R-I ron't see r'anything. R-Except ror that." He pointed to the side wall, along the stands, half covered by a wire fence that went past the finish line, slick with the continuing spray of slime that the Car-Croach emitted.

And it was then that the idea struck the slightly bewildered beatnik. His eyes widened as he made the measurements in his head, quickly calculating the multitude of possibilities of what could (and possiby would) happen to him and Scooby if this did happen to fail, or even if he succeeded. Then, finally, he made his decision.

"Scooby," Shaggy said, in a voice that was much too calm for his normal demeanor, "move to the back, will ya? And when I say so, move as far to my side as you possibly can."

"Rhat?" Scooby scrambled into the surprisingly roomy backseat, and stuck his head back into the front again. "Rhaggy, rhat are rou roing to--" It was then that what Shaggy was about to do hit him, again, like a very badly-thrown frisbee. "RO! Rhaggy, it's rot ronna work! Ron't ro it. Ron't ro r--RAAAAAAAAAHHH!" And he was thrown back into his seat by the G-forces as the car, yet again, shot forward, only now assisted by the sickeningly smelly slime that coated the entire racetrack.

_"Well Don, it looks like Shaggy Rogers is gonna try and get past that buggy racer, but I personally don't see how he's gonna do it. Any ideas?"_

_"Nope, can't say that I see any way for that young hippie kid to get past that behemoth of a beetle. Unless he drives over it or flies, I just don't see any way for him to get past Haverstein. So let's just wait and see what he's gonna do, and pray to God that this works."_

"Jinkies, not again," Velma moaned. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. They're gonna get themselves killed."

"Now Velma, you have no reason to worry about them," Fred sat down on a nearby bench, Daphne's arms still around his neck. "They have plenty of tricks up their sleeves. You saw how they got past that Gator car. That was actually pretty cool, by the way, but the point is--," he changed his train of thought when both women glared icily at him, "--they will be fine. They always are. It's just who they are, which is very, very, almost abnormally lucky."

Velma smiled at him, grateful for the reassurance. "Thanks Fred. That really helped. At least, for the moment." She stared off at the track, as everything seemed to slow down a little, and as the car steadily approached the massive beetle.

Meanwhile, Daphne smiled at her boyfriend **(and yes, they are a couple. Hope you guys enjoy it ;P)**. "Oh Fred, that was so sweet of you to comfort her. Now, if you could comfort me a little..." She trailed off, and raised one eyebrow coyly. And luckily for her _and_ him, he got her drift.

"I'm sure that that can be quite easily arranged," he said, causing the redhead to giggle as they each leaned in for a long and loving kiss. Velma groaned.

"Ugh, get a room you two," she muttered, and turned her attention **(and ours)** away from the kissing couple **(which is what most of_ you_****_ want_ me**** to focus on, _Linky_)**, and towards the track again** (which is what _I_ want to focus on, so get used to it).**

And so we do indeed turn back to our two heroes, one of which was cowering in the backseat of the little red hot rod, his tail quivering like an arrow shot straight by William Tell, and his fur so on edge that it could cut through any size of cantaloupe that one could ever desire. The other was gritting his teeth as he was forced back into his seat, preparing for what was probably his riskiest move yet; for, if this did fail, then there would be a lot more then just smelly green slime to clean off of the track. He flattened his foot to the floor--

And made his move. Which began like so...

He swerved the car wildly as he took the final curve, the tires skidding and slipping as they struggled for some type of grip on the slick and slithery surface, most of which was gathered alongside the edges of the wall. And it was this key feature that would help him to get past the giant Car-Croach.

"SCOOBY DOO! THROW YOUR WEIGHT AGAINST MY SIDE OF THE CAR! NOW!!" Shaggy yelled, as he threw his own weight (not much, considering his size) against the window. And when Scooby leaped over to the right-side of the car's backseat, the car began to spin wildly as they took the turn; and just as the car was about to hit the wall with a sickening _crunch_--

--it slid up onto the wall, and continued to drive alongside the wire fence road sideways.

And all that the spectating crowd and nearby racers could do was gape in awe and amazement as the FireDog passed by the monstrous motor vehicle, with barely an inch to spare between the two cars. And as they bypassed the behemothic beetle, the stadium shook with the roars that were heard from the sizable crowd in the stands, and with the howls of many a dog brought there that day for support of the Scooby Doo team; one of which belonged to Scooby himself as the car shot ahead in desperation, in order to stay on the wire road that was the wall.

Meanwhile, while the speed-and-Scooby-Snack-hungry duo sped ahead of the massive mechanical freak of automotive nature, the gang watched nervously as they approached the finish line. Or rather, the wall by the finish line. And they slowly began to despair, for, in order to win the Tyler County 500 Road Race, the car would have to cross the finish line. _Not_ the wall alongside it. And they had just run out of green slime to slide along.

And it seemed that Shaggy and Scooby had realized this too; for, at the end of the wall by the finish line, was a set of giant speakers, which was getting louder and louder as they approached it. They paled considerably, knowing all too well what would have to be done to escape the horrible fates ahead for themselves, and they did not anticipate doing what had to be done. So they swallowed down the lump of fear and dread that had risen in their throats (among other things), and with one last terse nod, and a brief handshake--

--Shaggy twisted the steering wheel as far to the left as it would go--

--Scooby howled and buried his face in his paws--

--Haverstein, who had been previously crying at his defeat, looked up again in hope--

--The gang looked on in fear for their best friends' lives--

--the other racers stared in amazement and prayed that the race wouldn't be won by some bug-loving freak--

--the crowd held their breath, and for once the announcers did too--

--and the car twisted away from the fence in a double-360, landing with a harsh squeal as the tires screeched onto the asphalt again.

And the crowd went wild as the two spun across the finish line, screeching to a halt at the end of a tailspin on the lawn that lay within the racetrack loop, the remains of the tires smoking on the too-green grass, and the racers within the shining red car panting from extreme exhilaration.

It was then that Scooby clamored back into the front seat, took off his helmet and glared angrily at Shaggy as he shook out his ears. "Ron't rou EVER ro that r'again," he scolded, and caused the beatnik to burst out laughing as he took off his own helmet, his face sweaty but triumphant, as he pulled out a box of Scooby Snax from the glove compartment and opened them up, pouring half into his buddy's lap.

"Like yeah. But now that you look at it, like have you ever felt a rush like that?"

"Rell..." Scooby thought for a moment, while munching contently on the tasty treats. "Rheah, rokay, rhat was retty rool." And the two high-fived, as they stepped out of the still-smoking car onto the lawn, waving at the roaring crowd and the flashes of light that were photographers, one of whose name is Carla, and who shall come in again much later in the story.

"Shaggy! Scooby!" The dynamic and hungry duo turned to see the rest of the gang running towards them as they called out their names. The first one to arrive was Velma, who stood there panting as she stared up at them.

"Like, hey guys. How did you li--" SMACK! Velma slapped the beatnik in the face, an angry glare evident in her eyes.

"THAT was for not telling us about the splitting-in-two mechanism." SLAP! "And THAT was for that stupid stunt that you just pulled."

"Like, what do we get for living?" Shaggy asked, a bit dazedly. She leant forward and wrapped her arms around his slender waist in a scared and relieving hug, that was hesitantly returned with one of comfort and guilt.

"This." She said, her voice muffled by the lime green and teal blue Scooby Snax sponsored-racing suits that they wore, as she squeezed him even tighter. "And me not killing you for nearly killing yourselves."

"Rair r'enough." Scooby said, as he panted from the heat and stepped out of his racing suit.

"Velma's right you guys," Daphne said as she put her hands on her hips. "You really should tell us about these things before you do them, so that we AT LEAST know what you're capable of doing in a race!"

"Yeah," Fred commented, earning an approving nod from Daphne. "Although it _was_ pretty cool." The nod was now a harsh glare. "B-But you still should've told us." The nod was back.

"Okay, okay," Shaggy held up his hands in surrender. "Like, for one, we know what we're doing, but I guess we should've told you. And for like, two, that was the only way around that--that THING! We were just lucky."

"Reah, really rucky."

"And we're really sorry for worrying you guys. Like, we'll try not to do it again--the car-fence trick, I mean. And like, we'll keep the Fred mechanism-usage to a minimum. Okay?"

Velma and Daphne stood there silent for a few seconds, before: "Yeah, okay, alright then." Fred however, said something else.

"You named that halving-trick-thingy after me? Wow, thanks." At this, the girls again glared at him.

"Well, like, yeah. It just made sense." Shaggy said, as he pulled off his gloves. "Mainly because you always tell us to split up." And with that, he and Scooby turned to walk to the winner's circle, after pulling the keys out of the ignition of course. "Well, like, are you guys coming or what?"

The gang shook themselves out of their semi-stupor. "You-you mean to the winner's circle?" Velma asked hesitantly. Scooby and Shaggy just stared at them all like they were stupid or something.

"Ro, to rhe rotdog stand. R'Of rourse ro the rircle. Rhen the rotdog stand r'afterwards."

"Like yeah. Without you guys, we couldn't've done anything. Now, like c'mon! They're waiting." And with that, the gang started forward alongside the racing duo, happy to know that the guys still considered them all as a team, even in a pretentious road race such as this, and didn't ignore friendship for glory.

And so the picture that was shown in the paper the next morning all throughout Tyler County and in Coolsville, Ohio, was that of all five of the members of Mystery Inc., centered around the golden First Place winning trophy of the Tyler County 500 Road Race, with Scooby in the middle, one couple on one side, and a soon-to-be couple on the other, all unaware of what would happen to them next.

And as the gang smiled at the surrounding photographers, one of whom was extremely stalkerish and whose name was Carla who would come in later in the the story, the announcers finally wrapped up their commentary on this most prestigious and interesting race, in which many phenomenons had been seen, and probably would never be seen again.

_"And so, we leave this fantastic and absolutely amazing race behind us, to be remembered for the rest of racing history as a one-of-a-kind event for other racers to look up at in wonder, and for other more mediocre races to be compared to."_

_"Well, I think just about every person in this stadium agrees with you there, my friend. For, in all my years of commentating and voice-providing for other such impressive events, I have never seen anything like what I've seen today. So this is Frank Welker--"_

_"And this is Don Messick, saying to you that if you ever wish to aspire to such a level of fame and friendly nature in your lifetime as this young man and his friends here today--"_

_**"--then keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars."**_

?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?--!--?

**OMG!! I am SOOOO happy that I finished my first chapter!! SQUEEEEEALLS LOUDLY Oh, I was so worried about how it should end, so please tell me what you think of it in review form!! PLEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSE!! **

**Thank you ;D**

**And for those of you who get the three SD mentions to voices in the last part, please mention them and I may mention you in the story later on!! So Toodles! And PLEASE REVIEW for Scooby-Doo!! See you guys later!**

**And coming up in the next chapter...a stubborn yet familiar werewolf on temporary retirement, ugly-ass henchmen, and a road race unlike any other, along with the world's crappiest entry gifts. Toodles again, my fine furry friends! See you all soon!  
!-Wolfy-! **


	2. Prologue 2: Temporary Retirement? Augh!

**Hello, my faithful reviewers! How are you? Good? Goooood. ;) Now ****I know that I shouldn't be starting another story, especially when I haven't finished my mini-series yet. I'm so very naughty for it, I know, I know, but I really can't help it. It's a very serious disease that I have, unfinish-itis (sorry for what it may sound like in another part of the word, it's not intentional, so please forgive me for that. ;D). Anyway, HERE it is, and I hope that you enjoy it to some extent ;).**

**I have decided to take a leaf outta one of Evelyn Knight's online books, and recreate one of my newest yet oldest and first ever favorites of the Scooby Movies: Scooby Doo and the Reluctant Werewolf. Only W/O Scrappy or Googie. Now slim chances are that I shall redo this movie with MANY various endings/plotlines/spinoffs/alternate choices or mishaps, simply because Shaggy is just so cute as a werewolf. Don't you agree? If you don't know what he looks like as one, I suggest that you rent the movie and watch it. THEN you'll agree w/me. **

**Also, I'm starting a mini-prison with all of _your_**** LEAST favorite characters in it. Just say who you want in the prison in your review, and they shall cameo as suffering a lot within said prison. So please Please Review!! And see fictional characters suffer!**

**_DISCLAIMER:_ "Scooby Doo" and other such affiliates belong to Hanna-Barbera and Warner Brothers, as does some of the dialogue used in this fic from "SD & the Reluctant Werewolf". I, however, belong to myself and the CBS network, and the plot twists belong to JUST me, no matter WHAT the squirrels may say about it.**

**Oh, and one more _little _thing:**

_**PLEASE REVIEW!!**_

**That is all. Bye!!  
Wolfy**

* * *

**Prologue 2: The Conclusion's Revenge**

Our story here today begins with many things. The sounds of the roaring crowd echoing throughout the stadium as heat waves ripple off the racetrack, and the unholy shrieks of long-forgotten ghosts chill the misty grounds of the nearby graveyard, neither of which are anywhere near each other locationally-wise. But plotwise, they are almost completely fused together; and the fates of several souls are intertwining together as I speak.

But enough about the beginning. I'm stalling too much already for dramatic effect, so let's start things off with the much less interesting, but much more terrifying story that is happening now in Castle Dracula, in the deepest mountains of Romania. And now, with a flourish of slight repetition, we turn to the chilling events of the constant darkness, that is Transylvania...

**?0--0?**

The night air was frigid with a misty cold, illuminated only by a near-full moon, casting the shadowy castle into a silvery-blue shimmer, the rest shrouded in darkness. A sense of foreboding and drear, and of scare-away fear, hung in the mist, which clung to the ground of the nearby graveyard, and to the icy waters of the moss-coated moat, which crept almost gently up the semi-solid stone walls. The rotting wood of the drawbridge creaked and moaned, the rusting chains almost quivering in the cold, giving the most frightful impression of the sinful spirits calling out into the night, to free them from their rotting bonds to this deathly place that was Castle Dracula.

And it was inside this unholy grave that our story partially begins. Especially in one particular meeting room, that laid exactly 47 1/2 feet beneath the mountainous land up on which the castle stood...

**?--0--?**

The roars and shrieks of a multitude of monsters echoed throughout the room that was designated as the official conference cave. The cold and icy walls were slick with moisture and the slime that dripped down from the cracks in the castle walls alongside the moat, and the sickeningly sinful rotting green mold and moss that grew from it was damp with evening dew **(A/N: Go alliteration. ;D)**.

On one end of the room, a cold and dusty stone staircase ascended up into the drafty castle, which wasn't that much more pleasant a place then it was in here. A solid, weather-worn silver-and-iron table sat squarely in the middle of the so-called "room" (even though it was rectangular in shape). But it was what was seated **around** this table (that was still rectangular, remember) that was so horrifying.

An assembly of some of the world's most frightening and well-known monsters sat there, roaring and squeaking and slushing with outrage at the unfortunate news that they'd just received. Everyone was there: from Frankenstein and his not-so-blushing bride to the still-dripping Creature of the Black Lagoon; the floating and handsomely transparent Phantom of the Opera; Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde both (with half of each personality showing through); the Wicked Witch Sisters of Willow Wallow Swamp; the fantastical skeleton Mr. 'Bone' Jangles, a former famous dancer (and one of the youngest creatures there); the highly esteemed Mummy of Mukhandhaman, who was well over 6000 years old, and one of the most respected monsters in the monster world; and a few others who shall be mentioned in due time.

And yet...there is one that is still forgotten amongst this fine and elite class of monsters, who have inspired some of the most horrifying legends, and stories, and classic novels that have been remembered for all of eternity. Care to guess who it is?

Correct. It was the werewolf. And it was this said werewolf who was so gleefully causing the ruckus in this room. Let's listen in, shall we?

Of course we shall. But anyway...

**_"WHAT?!"_ **The Frankenstein's Monster roared, as he slammed his fists down onto the already cracking table.

"No werewolf?" The Phantom muttered quietly, as he fiddled with his golden ring.

"This is an outrage!" The Witch Sisters shrieked.

"Where is she?!" The Mummy mumbled frustratedly.

"And HOW could this _happen_?!" The Creature of the Black Lagoon sprayed out angrily.

Other such cries of shock and anger filled the room up fast, echoing hard and fast as the reverberations bounced off the walls of the cave; but all complaints were aimed, unfortunately, towards the bearer of bad news: the butler and head manservant at Castle Dracula, Wolfgang.

Now, Wolfgang was no ordinary manservant, of course not. Rather, he was half manservant, half cougar, with a catlike face and large padded paws that were surprisingly nimble. Born in Germany during the 1930s, he had been forced to escape the uprising of Hitler and the Nazi army by joining a travelling freak show across Europe. About twenty years later, during a show in a small village in Transylvania, he was spotted by one of Dracula's spies and informed of the open position. At this time, Wolfgang had grown weary of the freak show world, and had gladly accepted it, then becoming the castle's personal butler and head chef. He wore an especially tailored suit of velvet and silk that he was rather proud of, and, surprisingly, had a slight British accent (as most butlers tend to have), with an unfortunate rasping growl alongside it, giving it a chilling effect as it travelled through the air and down your spine.

And it was now, as Wolfgang tried to explain the situation quietly and patiently, that the master and namesake of of the castle, and, if not for the Mummy, one of the oldest and most respected creatures of the night, and the source of some of the scariest legends in the world, spoke up: Count Vladimir Dracula, once a prince, though few knew him by his full name or by that singular fact.

He was an imposing person; the stories had not spoken a single lie on that part. Towering just over 6 feet, his slender frame was hard as stone, and colder then ice. His sallow skin was white as snow, but just slightly tinged with gray and bluish-green, as most skin is on a fresh corpse, contrasting greatly to his ebony black hair. His face bore the look of aristocratic royalty upon it, his sharp crested features enough so to slice through silk without tearing a single corner; and his eyes like glowering coals, a hidden spark still within its obsydian depths, ready to leap into a roaring fire of fury and bloodlust within seconds. He was dressed elegantly in a Victorian-esque suit of black and a darkened bruise-tinged purple; and on the underside of his midnight black, high-collared cape, was a blood-red silken lining.

All-in-all, one had to admit that he was an easy sight on the eyes.

And a pretty snappy dresser.

And it was now, with a velvet drawl that sent shivers up and down one's spine, that he spoke.

"Yeeees, Volfgang, vhat iz de reason for zhis trrrrah-vesty?" He drawled lazily, as his sharpened dagger-like fangs were revealed to the room, a tinge of brownish red slightly staining the canines; and just the simple knowledge of what that color was from sent a chill scurrying throughout one's surroundings, alongside the tiny ice-ridden castle mice.

"I'm ever so sorry, m'Lord," the creature rasped. "But the werewolf--she won't race. She says that she needed a vacation, Master, and went on temporary retirement."

"Temporary retirement!?" Count Dracula exclaimed, a look of outragous disbelief in his eyes. "For how long?!"

"For about 50 years, Sire," Wolfgang replied. "She explains it all here--in this postcard." And as he said this, he gingerly pulled from the interior of his grey silken vest a colorful postcard, and handed it over to him, where it was ripped away in one quick motion.

"50 years! Zhis iz unacceptable," the Count muttered angrily, as he looked at the picture on the front. "Vhere exactly is she, by zhe way?"

"She's in Las Vegas, your Dreadfulness."

"Oh." For a minute, the anger faded from his head. "Not a bad place to go to, considering zhe fact zhat she's a hairy half-beast. I suppose zhat it could've been vorse."

"How so, sire?"

"She could've gone to L.A, or Hollyvood," he replied; and just outside, a few pieces of stone and chain tumbled down into the moat, sounded faintly like a 'Buddup pum KHISH!' sound, like after you tell a bad joke at a comedy club and no one laughs at it, which was the case here. However, here no one dared to laugh at the Count unless he himself laughed first. But anywho, let's read what the postcard says.

" 'Dear Drac'," Dracula began. "Ugh! I absolutely HATE IT vhenever I'm called zhat. 'Having a vonderful time in temporary retirement here at zhe crahps table. I'm just about to go over to zhe slot machines vith my two adorable arm candy boy toys. Glad you're NOT here. Volfy'."

"BAH!" He flung the postcard off of the table, and rose up from his spot at the head seat, all in one fluid motion. "Zhis iz unacceptable! Ve cannot have zhe Monster Road Rally Race vithout zhat blasted verevolf! Volfgang!" The half-cougar manservant, who had been busy wiping down the dust and lint from his black velvet jacket with a lint remover, looked up quickly and snapped to attention. "Yes, Sire?"

"Brring over zhe monitor and zhe satellite communications receptor! Ve are going to find Little Miss Temporary Retirement, and get her back in zhe road race! Even if it kills her vhile doing so."

**0--?--0**

**_Meanwhile, in a casino in Las Vegas..._**

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaannd...Seven!" The entire crowd around the table cheered, and a few rampant howls were heard from the roller, who now posessed over '200,000 dollars in chips on the table. Nearby, at the bar, a waitress was being ushered over, to deliver a message to the werewolf at the craps table. She worked her way nervously, threading through almost, into the crowd, which parted slightly to reveal the player at the craps table:

ME! **(A/N: Honestly, what did you expect? You knew this was coming, and you knew it. ;P) **And as the waitress got closer, I started up my good luck ritual again.

"WHOOOOOO!" I whooped eagerly, urging the crowd around me to do the same. When they were up and rolling, I turned to my two boy toys. "Paolo," I started, looking at the spicy dark-haired Italian to my left. "Scratch my ears, would you dear? And Viktor," I scooped up the two dice, and held them out in my open palm to my handsome Romanian sweetheart on my right. "Blow, please?"

A slight, cool breeze ruffled the fur of my palm. "That's my boy," I smiled, as I ruffled his long and beautiful brownish dark hair teasingly, before turning back to the table.

"Alright everyone," I yelled out to the eager crowd that surounded the table. "If I win this, we'll all get a free round of drinks." A chorus of cheers followed as I scratched the back of my right ankle with my left big toe, and wrinkled my nose. I rubbed the dice between my slender, slightly padded and hairy five-fingered paws, the click of my long and recently polished ebony claws as they slid against the sides of the dice barely audible admist the surrounding noise of the casino and its ringing slot machines. I shook them loudly as I prepared to throw them yet again.

"Okay then," I cried out. "Let's rooooooooooooolll them bones, Jangles!" And I flung them up into the air, watching nervously as they fell to the table's soft green felt surface, and clattered about noisily. Everyone around me and the table fell silent.

They bounced around for a few more seconds, before finally falling still. The craps table manager peered over to glance at the numbers upon the cubes. Then:

"Seven!"

And everyone expolded into cheers while I jumped up and howled joyously, throwing my arms around Viktor's muscular frame. This was turning out to be a fantastic evening, having already tripled my money to several hundred thousand dollars, and discovered a new foreign sweetheart, of whom I was much more fond of, and of whose countryside I knew far too much of. As I tossed a few hundred dollar chips to the bartender and the craps table manager nearby, the waitress, who'd been hovering nearby uneasily, finally approached me, if somewhat hesitantly. And who could blame her? I was fantastically unnerving when I wanted to be. "Um, Miss?"

Luckily for her, my ears caught that slight whisper of an interruption. "Yeah?" I turned to face her. She was a rather timid-looking thing, with a long thin mousy brown braid running down her back, and bangs in her eyes. A nametag reading 'Melanie, from California' was secured on her brilliant red vest. "Don't worry dear, I'm not gonna bite you. Now what is it? I wanna get in a few more rolls before heading over to the slots, or maybe Texas Hold'em."

"Th-Th-there's s-so-someone on the vi-video phone in our pr-private c-conference room f-for you."

Ah, so that was it. He had found me after all, and so quickly at that. Clever vampire. But still rather stupid all the same.

"I'll take it," I said stiffly, swiftly grabbing a few piles of newly won hundred- and fifty-dollar chips and pocketing them for roulette later, while motioning for the others to be cashed. I then turned to my adoring fans.

"Okay everyone, I have to go. I gotta take an 'important' call." At this, everyone moaned, and a wave of "Awwwwwwoh"s met my furry ears, making me smile as they all sipped their drinks. They had all been hoping to get another round of drinks, or maybe something to eat at the all-you-can-eat buffet. They had fantastic lobsters there; maybe I could get one later before I went on. But right now, I had other, more important matters to attend to.

"Now now, don't worry," I called out, as I took the mound of wads of bills handed to me and shoved them into the bottomless pockets of my black cargo pants, sweeping up my Bahama Mama as I turned to leave. "Just hang around the roulette tables, I'll be there soon. Because tonight, the dice have lost there luck, and have thrown it over to the wheel, so see you soon!" Everyone whooped and cheered at the news, before dispersing, some going over to the bar, while others went off to the slots.

As I turned to follow the waitress, I abruptly remembered my new Romanian sweetheart. "Oh Viktor!" I called out, smiling as he turned around, obviously startled by the sound of someone calling his name; he relaxed when he saw it was me. "I'll meet you back in our room later. See ya!" And I blew him a kiss as I rounded the corner which led to the long and unpleasant conversation that awaited me.

God, how I loved Las Vegas. Here, being a werewolf was almost like being normal. And it was really fun, too. Especially the all-you-can-eat buffets. They always had the best garlic lobster ravioli. And the best beef-and-chicken omlettes. But I could gorge on that stuff later. Now I had to take care of some sticky business that I really didn't want to have to deal with. Ever. But it had to be, or else I would never get to enjoy my temporary retirement. AKA: a sweet-ass vacation.

We finally stopped at a small, but elegantly crafted oak-wood door. The girl fumbled with the keys, her hand shaking nervously as she searched for the correct key that would lead me to a long and tortuous rant by a fussy vampire. Poor Melanie. She was probably afraid that I'd bite her head off. I would never do such a thing in a _public_ place, the foolish girl. Besides, why would I eat a raw, fatty, squirming, screeching human when I could eat a rare and nicely seasoned filet mignon at the buffet instead? It made no sense whatsoever.

She finally got the door opened, to reveal a lavish, if slightly schmitzy, room. "H-he-here you are, m-miss. The call w-will be connected to the t-talk-screen mo-momentarily. Just t-talk into th-that microphone, a-and look into the camera right h-here. The screen is r-right in front of y-you and ad-adjustable to any angle y-you s-so wi-wish. Just pr-press that blue button when the co-conversation is o-over and you w-want to be escorted out."

"Okay," I said, as I strode confidently into the room. "And here's a little something for your troubles." I dropped a small handful of hundred- and fifty-dollar chips into her palm, watching her face light up in astonishment as she saw what they were. Poor girl. Probably never got a good tip in this town. Hopefully that would help pay for her rent for the next two or three months. I remember being in a similar position at one point, before I became what I did. I had begged for a few rampant coins here and there on the streets, sometimes stealing food if it need be, so I could sympathize with the struggles one went through on a day-to-day basis. Somewhat, anyway. It had been many years ago in a much less tolerable time. Melanie smiled hesitantly at me.

"Th-thank you miss." I smiled back, my sharp teeth sparkling with the refection of the brightly-colored casino lights that bounced off of the mirror-lined hallways from the much more fun part of the hotel.

"No problem," I said, and watched her face drop as she scurried away like a timid little mouse. Whoops. I'd forgotten just how terrifying I could be. And my teeth probably hadn't helped matters in this situation. I hoped that the girl would be okay. She didn't belong in a casino. Not someone who was decent and actually had modesty, among other morals about herself. Hopefully she would be able to find a job somewhere as an accountant or a secretary, something more fitting with a girl that actually had any decency about herself. Las Vegas wasn't always for everyone.

As the door, its hinges finely oiled, glided over the fine, rich, velvet red carpet that was also ankle-deep to boot, and clicked into its rightful position, I slid the locks down, over, and about, not wanting to be disturbed by some half-drunken baboon who had taken a wrong turn on his way to the bathroom to puke up the remains of what had been a delicious dinner and a few too many shots of tequila. After that was done, I joyfully kicked off my shoes (or rather, sandals--I hated the closed-in feeling that they made around my toes), immensely enjoying the static-ky feeling that my furry feet made as I skimmed over the carpet to the tastefully-made and sleek leather chair.

I quickly gulped down another mouthful of my drink as I ran a brush through my facial fur and hair, putting on my best and emotionless game face, and breathing in calming breaths as I prepared myself for the upcoming and highly-dreaded conversation. After I checked my appearance in one of the nearby mirrors, I swallowed down another gulp of my alcoholic Bahama Sunset.

I was gonna need all the help, and relief, that I could get.

**_...Meanwhile, back in Transylvania..._**

Count Dracula glared angrily at the monitor before him and the rest of the monsters and ghouls, silently seething as it filled with snow and an annoyingly loudly-buzzing static, before finally slamming his fists down upon the already-cracking table.

"Volfgang! Vhy iz zhis taking so long?! I must get through to zhat blasted verevolf so that I can yell at her BEFORE zhe race, not vhen her 'retirement' iz OVER!!"

"Begging your utmost patience and pardon, Sire," the butler said, as he fiddled anxiously with the dials and knobs that were situated on the control panel. "It should be coming through right about...now!" And sure enough, the snow and static vanished, only to be replaced by the clear and colorful image on the screen that was the werewolf herself. Dracula smiled a sticky, poisoned, plastic smile.

"Aha," he said, as he threaded his long and slender fingers together as any evil person shall do when they believe that they have their enemy trapped. "I knew zhat I vould find you at zhis particular casino,_** Volfy**_." And as he spoke, everyone's gaze turned to where the werewolf was on the large, life-sized 6-foot screen that was situated at the end of the long and dimly reflecting table.

She was a sleek and noble creature, there was no doubt about it. A fine coat of shimmering chocolate fur shone in the bright casino lights that had managed to permeate the private conference room. Her long and slightly tapered ears rose from the waves of human hair on her head, its shade a marvelous icy brown with a blood red sheen, all of which hung down to her waist. Golden red eyes like a sunset on a field of wheat shone out with a smirk above her small and gently sloping muzzle, her teeth shining a brilliant white beneath her midnight-blackened nose. Long, slender fingers with menacingly tapered claws were wrapped around the stem of a curvy martini-esque glass, whose rainbow-colored contents contrasted greatly with her black leather blouse. A pair of black obsydian cargo pants hung from her lengthy legs, her bare and furry feet (or rather, her clawed toes) curling from her as they sat contentedly on the polished mahogany table. Her long and furry tail brushed eloquently over the rich red carpet, occasionally rising up to curl over the arm of the dark and sleek leather chair.

All-in-all, I was a sight to see. Just like I had hoped to be. **(A/N: LOL, you guys DO need to know what I look like in this story. LOL ;D)**

All of the male monsters stared unabashedly at my curvy form, and many were hit on the back of their heads by the jealous female ghouls at the table. This slowed my pounding heart, and eased my nerves greatly as I replied.

"Well, of course you would," I said smugly, my confidence holding steady. Luckily. "The address of the hotel was on the postcard."

I watched gleefully as the smile fell off of his face and shattered on the cold stone floor faster then a person falling through the air with**out** a parachute and **with** a bowling ball in hand. "Vell, it does not matter HOW I found you. All zhat matters iz zhat I managed to get through to you. Now, if you vould just hear me out--"

"I'm not gonna race in the race, Dracky."

_"_**_VHAT!?_**" he roared, while I struggled to keep from bursting into laughter at his suddenly tomato-red face. "First of all, how _**DARE**_ you call me Dracky?! I **HATE** being called Dracky! And **SECOND** of all," he yelled, as the monsters around his table tried, and failed, to keep from snickering at the blatant disregard for his attitude and requests that I was showing him. "**VHY THE FREAKING HELL NOT!! **Ve NEED a verevolf to race in zhe Monster Road Rally!"

"Why?" I challenged him (my confidence growing by the second), only to find, to everyone's great amusement, that he didn't have an answer. At least, not for a few minutes anyway.

"B-be-because," he said, as he desperately searched for a reasonable answer; and luckily, found one that actually sounded believable. "Ever since zhis race began, over thousands of years ago vhen ve simply ran zhe race instead of using auto-mo-biles or horses or carriages, zhere has been a verevolf and a vampire zhere, along vith a few others. But it all began vith zhose two creatures. For your kind and mine have alvays competed against each other, and as time vent on, other monsters and ghouls and fiends arose, leading us to hold a vorld-vide road race for all of zhe creatures zhat exist today. Zhis led us to host zhe race aht v-one location or another, vith a new host every 100 years, meaning zhat zhe host himself, or herself, would sit out and provide zhe prizes and zhe marvelous trophy for zhe winners. But every monster would otherwise race! Zhose were zhe rules zhat vere decided on, you nitvit! You of all ghouls should know zhis! You're over 2000 years old!"

"And yet I don't look a day over 200," I said calmly as I sipped my drink, and basked in the roars of laughter that came from the other monsters at the table that was both so close and so far away, all the while effectively destroying the sense of tradition and fear that that stupid vampire had tried to establish. "Now, if we could just wrap this up, I'd like to get back to play some roulette before I go on. I've got a swell act as a lounge singer here, and I don't wanna lose my job. So, if you could just go away and leave me be for the next--"

"NO! I vill NEVER go avay!" Count Dracula yelled, his eyes flaring dangerously as he _really _started to lose his temper. "And until you agree to put aside all of zhis foolish nonsense about temporary retirement and come back, zhen I vill pester you until you either croak like a frog or you come back to your rightful place! Now vhat iz it going to be?!"

"Hmmmm...I think I'll sound like Barbara Streisand by the time you're through with me." By now, everyone was gasping for air that they didn't need. For those few who did dare to heckle a vampire as powerful and proper as this one was often received a large laugh and round of applause. That is, until they stepped in and ruined the fun.

"ZHAT IS QUITE **_ENOUGH_**!!" He roared, and silence spread throughout the room like mourners at the tomb of a well-beloved friend on a rainy Friday the 13th. "Now, before zhis foolish baboonery spreads any further, I vill insist upon you racing, you stupid little bi--"

"YOU EVEN BREATHE A THOUGHT OF THAT WORD INTO YOUR BRAIN-DEAD SKULL, AND I'LL COME RIGHT THROUGH THIS TV WITH GARLIC AND A WOODEN STAKE YOU SLIMY LITTLE NO-GOOD TWO-TIMING BASTARD!!" I leapt to my feet as I said these words, anger flaring throughout every pore of my body. To be called such a name as a werewolf was one of the worse insults to our kind. "And look whose talking! You yourself are nothing but a stupid little tick that feeds off of bird blood instead of catching a real treat, and who should _REALLY _be sucking the blood straight out of my--"

"Alright, alright," Dracula interrupted. "I am sorry. That vas below zhe belt, even I admit zhat. But if you're not going to race, zhen who vill?"

"Well, as I recall, there are _plenty _of werewolves, thousands even, that are out there, and _more _then willing to take my place."

"But zhey are not vhat ve need!" The Count said through clenched teeth. "BAH! See, zhis iz why I do not like looking for new racers. And vhat a shame zhat ve cannot hold zhe race any more. For, vithout a verevolf, zhe race cannot be held. Oh vell. Looks like ve'll have to throw out all of zhose vonderful prizes zhat ve got for zhe racers."

Everyone did a double take. "Wonderful prizes?!" The monsters and ghosts in the room gasped.

"Say what now?" As did I.

"A-ha, got your attention have I?" Dracula smiled as he leaned back into his carved and rotting throne, which embraced him with the wings of a bat as his armrests. "Oh Vanna! Vanna Pyra, my sveetheart, darling! Vhere are you? Ve vould like to see zhe prizes for zhe rally, if you do not mind showing us, of course." A beautiful and newly transformed vampire flounced down the stairs in what she believed to be an elegant trawl. Everyone gaped at her, and she smiled widely, displaying two tiny baby fangs. They were pitiful.

"Oh please," I muttered. "My fangs are much more impressive then that skanky little tart has. She's probably never used them. Worried that she'd get blood on her clothes. Probably drinks it from a wineglass." But no one payed attention to me as the luscious blonde-haired icy-blue-eyed nitwitted git 'glided' across the stone floor in a tight and much too low-cut dress that was made from what looked like snakeskin. Poor snakes.

"Okay Dracky honey," she said as she quickly wormed her tongue into his mouth, before heading over to the moth-eaten curtain to begin her little show. Dracula just sat there and stared unabashedly at what was now known as his girlfriend for the next couple of decades, a stupid grin slowly spreading on his face, bearing the tell-tale signs of a predator before he pounces. Most of them didn't last long because he drank them dry. Stupid creatures. And he didn't even mind that she called him Dracky! This Vanna Pyra must be pretty good in the coffin, I thought, as she began to show off the prizes.

"And you've definitely gotten it right on the wonderful prizes bit, Dracky sweetheart. For, just for entering the race, every monster and ghoulish competitor receives their very own Slimy Spa 450!" She pulled the rope made from thickly woven spider cobwebs, and parted the curtains to reveal an elegantly crafted cauldron that was the size of a hot tub. Only much less relaxing. Everyone else, however, oohed and awed at the site of it.

"That's right," Vanna purred. "It's custom made of real wormwood, and even comes with a year's supply of meal or earth worms; you choose! Sponsored and made by Slimy Products. If it makes your flesh crawl, then it's a Slimy!" The room buzzed with excitement. If this was what they'd get for entering, then what would they get for winning? I for one, was not impressed.

"Wheeee, that's what I've always wanted!" I exclaimed sarcastically. "My fur infested with thousands of wriggling worms and slime! That's _every _young werewolf's dream! To spend hours detangling your fur of moss and worm eggs while trying to explain to your doctor how you got something that needs to be treated with pet medication!" The crowd laughed, and I showed off my fangs in a widely intimidating smile at that stupid little salesgirl. She needed to see what _real_ teeth looked like.

"Well, if you don't like that, then just wait, dog breath. Because that's only the beginning." Well, at least she had quick retorts on her. I leaned back in my chair. While she may have clever comebacks, I had a tail, impeccable senses, and two boy toys waiting for me in my hotel room, along with several hundred thousand dollars in my pocket. So I would let her win this round. For now.

"Never mind showing any of zhe other prizes Vanna darling," Dracula broke in wearily. "Ve can't have a race vithout zhe verevolf. And since you refuse to race, Volfy, ve cannot have zhe race at all." And at this, the entire room groaned and moaned and slushed with disappointment, some of them shooting me dirty looks through the monitor. But I had a plot to establish, and dammit, it was gonna get done!

"That's...not exactly true, Dracula." The entire counsel turned towards the screen as I spoke those magic words, staring at me, their mouths agape. The Count could only stare in amazement and disbelief at what I had just said. "Vhat did you just say?"

"I said," I said, raising my voice a little. "That you do not need **_me_**, per say, to go on with the race." And at this, everyone burst into laughter. This time laughing _**at**_ me, not at a joke I had so wittily thought up. But this time, even Dracula was clutching his sides.

"Hah ha hah ha ha HAH!" He snickered. "Zhat iz impossible! And even zhen ve cannot know if zhey are vhat iz needed to continue ze race! It iz ridiculously obsurd!"

"Ah, but you can make one that fits the job requirements," I countered back. And at this statement, the room went deathly silent, as they wondered at what I meant, and just how I knew it. Then one of the witches spoke up.

"How? How can it be done? The only way to make a werewolf is by being bitten by one or injecting the venom or blood of one into their veins by the full moon. There is no other way, my dear girl. None whatsoever."

"Well, then how did the first werewolf ever come to be? And how did I get to be here in the first place? I was never bitten or injected. I was _chosen_." And the room stayed still. Then the Phantom, a quiet sort of fellow, spoke up.

"But how? How were you chosen?"

"Well, that's easy. By **THE** Book, of course. The Grimmest Book of Dread Records. Or rather, prophecies, if you will. Which I believe was last in your posession, Dracky."

"DO NOT CALL ME DRACKY! And I do NOT have it!"

"Actually Sire--"

"Vhat is it Volfgang?"

"--You do have it. Right here in fact." And from behind his back, the weary butler produced a large and dusty old book that was covered with mystical signs and dreadful creatures of old, and slammed it down onto the table, bringing large clouds of dust into the air. And indeed: the cover of the book read, in large and beautifully scripted words:

_**The Grimmest Book of Dread Records**. _And below the word _Records_, in much smaller writing and in parentheses, read the word_:_

_(Prophecies)._

Dracula opened the book and flipped through the pages anxiously, before stopping at the desired spot. For it was here that it was told how the spell that created the first ever werewolf was carried out, and even how to cure one's werwolf-ism (or rather, lycanthropic symptoms, to directly quote the book). The vampire stared in amazement once again. "So zhere iz another, quicker vay to make a verevolf. But it does not say who zhe next verevolf vill be!"

"Just wait, and look at the blank box." The Mummy said, for he alone would know it; he had been with the last werewolf racer before he died, and had seen what had happened that had made me into the permanent were-being that I am so proudly today. "It will come."

And so it did. Within a few minutes, an enlarged and brightly-colored picture from a newspaper article appeared, revealing the close-up of the face of a young and gangly young man with a rather untidy appearance about him. Even his smile was lopsided. But his eyes were remarkably like a dog's were. Or rather, how a wolf's might look when crossed with a human. Beneath the picture was the name of the young man and a small paragraph about him, his life, his friends, and what he had done recently. The vampire smiled.

"Ah, so you vere right after all Volfy," he drawled. "There iz another vay to make zhe next verevolf racer. And vhat luck! Zhe time period zhat calls for its transformation every 150 years iz during zhe next few days of zhe full moon, starting tomorrow night! Vhat luck indeed."

"Hmm, yeah...luck. Sure," I mumbled underneath my breath as I examined my nails, as for now, I found them to be much more interesting then a vampire while he was reading. But luckily, he was too wrapped up in himself to notice anything. Well, anything except something about the soon-to-be new werewolf.

"Hmmm, let's see who zhis new verevolf iz, shall ve?" Vanna looked down over his shoulder as she read ahead, something that I had not thought her capable of doing.

"It says here that his name is Shaggy Rogers. And boy is he cuuuute!" At this, Dracula let out an angry snarl.

"SHAH-gee? Shah-GEE? Vhat kind of a name iz Shah-gee?" Vanna ignored his jealous mini-rant and continued to read out loud.

"Well it says here that he's an American, and that he works as a part-time detective and professional racecar driver. That sounds like exactly what you need for this big race Dracky sweety!" I giggled with glee as I watched him struggle not to strangle her right then and there. But as soon as the rest of the room heard that he was a racecar driver, they called out for the book to be passed down, which Vanna obliged to. And as the monsters saw him and read the small paragraph below, small fragments of his life were thrown out into the air.

"--parents got divorced when he was 14, lived with his dad until college--"

"--has a talking dog? Who knew that the humans had gotten that far along in magic--"

"--real name is Norville, how bizarre is that?--"

"--large family, father has six brothers and one half-sister--"

"--not too bad-looking for a human, eh sis? Shame he isn't a ghoul or a wizard--"

"--travels around with his friends revealing people who dress up as monsters and the schemes behind it, good thing, they just scar our reputation anyways--"

"--has a crush on one of his closest friends, poor kid, probably isn't easy--"

"--ancestors come from Austria, and even has rumors of a werewolf curse on a family heirloom! No wonder he's next in the book if he's got a werewolf curse running in his blood--"

"--likes Frank Sinatra, even named his dog after some of the lyrics. Kid has good taste in music then--"

"--he really is pretty cute--"

And finally the book got to the end of the table where the monitor was facing. And while I was the one causing this story to even happen, I still wanted a good view of what the kid looked like before he was changed into something like me. And it was then that I decided to goad Dracula onwards over the brink and see him throw a 'small' hissy fit. I cleared my throat loudly.

"Well Dracky, looks like you found the perfect werewolf. He's timid, afraid of monsters, and so much cuter then you that it's like comparing a sleeping newborn-baby puppy with a blue bow around its neck and a new soft chew toy as it sleeps on a delicate silken pillow when given as a birthday present, next to the decaying corpse of a decrepid old bat as it's being feasted on by festering boil-covered vultures and slimed with their poop!" And everyone at the table exploded into laughter, as his face again changed from the color of cold cream to that of an overripe tomato. And it was then that I thought that, maybe for _once_, I had gone too far.

**_"SILENCE!!_**" He screeched, and it fell silent in the underground room once more. "I vill NOT have a cute verevolf in zhis race! It iz unacceptable! But it does not matter as to how cute he iz **now**, because the Hunch Bunch vill soon take care of him."

And the entire room went pale.

"T-th-the Hunch Bunch?"

"Oh Yeeeeuuuuck!"

"They're so horrible!"

"And awful!"

"Yeah, oh my god, they're so terrible, auugh." I said in a dead-beat frightened tone, which is otherwise known as sarcasm to you human readers.

"Yeeeeeeess, they most certainly are," Dracula purred, as he pushed the button with which to summon the two brothers with. Vanna gently tugged on his shoulder. "Yes, my darling, vhat iz it? I have to plan zhis young man's demise rather quickly, seeing as zhe race iz in less zhen a veek."

"Oh Dracky-kins, surely you could do something else to him instead of setting the Hunch Bunch on him. You--you could tie him up with some snakes instead of ropes, or when you come back with him, you could keep him constantly surrounded by some of your sweet little vampire bats. Wouldn't that be much better? That way you could watch him squirm." Dracula shook his head, all the while tutting his stupid little girlfriend.

"I'm sorry Vanna, but zhis vill be so much more fun to vatch! Besides, I am needed here to set up zhe racing course and prepare for our new guest's accomadations." And so from his breast pocket of his coat, he removed a single, silver bell. "Ah, zhey are here. Better open zhe doors." He rang the small bell. "Oh Crunchy and Brunchy!! You may come in now!"

"Oh this is gonna be good," I murmured as I leaned forward in my chair. Seeing two hunchbacks scare an entire roomful of some of the world's most terrifying monsters was always good entertainment. But when the two brothers walked into the room, a shiver involuntarily went down my own spine that left the tip of my tail tingling with horror and disgust at the sight I saw before me on the screen.

They had certainly gotten much uglier since the last time I had seen the Hunch Bunch brothers. They were not twins, but both were around the same height, and had a few similarities. For example, both of them were hunchbacks that had, for a time, tried to rob banks in France and carve gargoyles from granite stone, but were unsuccessful in both fields. This was what made them turn to the life of the freak show carny, who helped out backstage setting up the tents and displays. And it was in this way that they'd met Wolfgang, who had at that point been taken on as Dracula's personal manservant, and who continued to stop by his former home and workplace to visit with his cousin Olaf, who was the Snake Man there, and whose shedded scales and skins were scrubbed and cleaned by the two hunchbacks for sale as a souvenir, but of course done under supervision. They were introduced, and, less then a fortnight later, a bat came and observed them, before finally informing them of the open position as the vampire's personal evil henchmen for use in daylight and faraway mischief, as well as for relaying important messages between the monsters, which they rapidly agreed to do. But all of this didn't make them any less hideous.

Now most people say that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. But the Hunch Bunch were the one exception to that particular personal philosophy. Both were wearing striped shirts, one red-striped, one blue. The one in the red-and-white-striped t-shirt was named Crunch, who had an unfortunate speech impediment, and a rather sloshy lisp that ended up making many people he talked to rather wet and soggy with saliva. He also had a lazy eye that creeped many people (and monsters) out, and had a stupid look on his face which quite accurately described his IQ. However, his brother Brunch was of a different creepiness, one that was more intelligent and well-mannered then his brother. Brunch had a slight British accent, a pair of cracked spectacles sitting on his wonky nose, and a crop of greasy black hair, as well as a skimpy mustache, neither of which his slobbering brother had any of (the hair, I mean). But no matter which one you happened to look at, both were very ugly and rather frightening to look at, especially at night in a dark alleyway.

And it was so that as they entered the cold and creepy castle room that the other monsters began to quake in their rotting skins, because no matter who or what you were, no one could stomach the sight of the Hunch Bunch for too long. Dracula, however, having seen many unpleasant things throughout his life, did not mind them as much as the other monsters did, because who better then to have as henchmen then these horrendous hunchbacks? And everyone had agreed, at least on this one solitary point about the two brothers besides the fact that they were rather horrible creatures to be around.

As the two stepped into the room, I felt the ball of fear and disgust that had crunched up in my stomach fade away as Crunch began to 'speak', and found myself struggling not to laugh, as Dracula was covered with a fine film of drool. "BLAH! Sao-sopla blaseth sabbabla!" He slushed out, and his brother stepped forth to interpret for his brother.

"Oh, dear, allow me to translate. My brother here says 'Top ho, everyone!' As do I." Brunch stated clearly, and I snickered into my fur, knowing what he really said, as I had taken a class in Jibberish a few decades ago.

"Bleah, bleah, blop blo," Crunch repeated (somewhat), as he followed his brother over to the table of quivering monsters for their instructions on another dirty deed from Dracula.

"Ah, greetings Count. What's the caper this time old chum?"

"Bleah, blat's bla blaper?" The two bowed to the Count as was customary of most of his servants. Wolfgang, having been with the Count for several decades, was not required to unless it was an interruption or some bad news. He rose from his chair as he dog-eared the corner of the page of the spell, before handing it down to Brunch to look at.

"It's all here on zhis page," he drawled. "You have three nights, and only three, to turn zhis Shah-gee person into a verevolf, according to zhe spell listed here. I vant you to bring him back here to zhe castle BEFORE zhe big race. And remember, if you fail, it vill mean unspeakable torture."

"And a complimentary gift basket from me," I added, as the room once again erupted into laughter. I smiled; I could never stand it when everything was quiet like it was there. It was one of the reasons I had retired temporarily, actually. The two brothers looked up at the sound of my voice.

"Aha, Miss Wolf, how are you?" Brunch asked. "Well, I presume. Or have you simply gotten tired of racing for the while?"

"Yes, that is true," I replied, as I sipped at my Bahama Mama, lapping up a few droplets from the edge with my tongue. "I got tired of winning all of those big and bulky trophies. There's hardly any room left in my house for me! So I went to Vegas to win some cash instead. Most of it goes towards the SPCA, but I indulge myself from time to time." I grinned as I saw Dracula's face getting red...again.

"Bah! You stupid verevolf, alvays causing me grief," he muttered angrily, before turning back to the Hunch Bunch. "Vhy are you two still here?! Go and get me my new verevolf!"

"Um, Sire--"

"Vhat!?"

"For one, we don't have a ways to get to him, and for two, I have no idea where he is now. There's no mention of an address anywhere on here, Sire." Dracula ripped the book away from Brunch as he said this, and scanned through it, before handing it back to the drier of his henchmen.

"Hmm, it seems zhat for once, you are right. No matter! Ve shall have to find him another ways. Volfgang! Go and look up his a-ddress, and make it snappy!"

"Oh, there's no need for that," I said loudly. "He lives on 1276 Sandalshore Avenue in Coolsville Ohio in Brazoris County with his three friends and his talking dog Scooby." Everyone at the table stared at me, surprised that I had said anything, much less something helpful to Dracula, of all monsters.

"Oh," Dracula said, a surprised and rather pleased expression on his face. "Vhy thank you, Volfy my dear."

"Not at all, Dracula. It was my pleasure." And this made him suspicious.

"Vait a minute," he said slowly. " You never call me Dracula, only Dracky, because you absolutely love to annoy me. And for zhat matter, vhy are you telling me zhis at all? I thought zhat you didn't like for me to--how you say it--get my vay." The entire room looked up at me again, and I knew that in trying to hurry the story along, I had made a grave mistake. One that was ridiculously easy for me to fix. I smiled.

"Dracky, Dracky, Dracky," I tsked. "You know that that's not always true. Besides, how am I ever going to enjoy my retirement or get this plot off the ground if you continue to pester me to race? Also, I just _**know**_ that **this** werewolf is going to make things much more difficult for you and much more interesting for me and the readers. And whoever said that I don't like to see someone suffer a little huh? And what better opportunity and greater purpose then this?" All the monsters, including Dracula surprisingly, nodded in agreement, and I let out a small sigh of relief.

"Alright, I guess zhat I did jump to some conclusions zhere. Thinking zhat you vere trying to be--ugh!--nice and good. And vhat do you mean, readers?"

"I said bleeders, you cloth-eared git, meaning all of the other racers. Am I right?" I got a round of hoots and applause from the rest of the room at this, and I grinned eagerly.

"Alright already, zhat's quite enough!" Dracula silenced the counsel around him, and turned to his two hunchbacked henchmen for further details. "Did you two get zhat?" Brunch nodded, quickly being imitated by Crunch, who had at first shaken his head 'no'. The vampire sighed. "Okay zhen. You may take zhe BatCopter, but I vant _**no**_ scratches on zhe paint job, and zhe verevolf must not be harmed. Frightened is allowed, and encouraged. I vill check up on your progress every night, and remember, if you fail, zhe consequences vill be most _excruciating_." And at this, his fangs extended far past his lower lip, almost to his chin as they glinted a reddish brown sheen on white in what little light there was. The two swallowed nervously, as did the rest of the room, along with myself. We all knew what that meant.

"F-Fear not, your Evilness," Brunch spoke up shakily. "You can count on us. That werewolf won't know what hit him. Come Crunch!" He motioned for his brother to follow him over to the stairs and up to the roof.

"Bleah, bles suffosuffley lesspellasa sappasaspally seh-heh." Crunch said, and I snorted so hard that some of my drink came out of my nose, which burned terribly, but which did not matter, because I had fallen off of my chair laughing too hard anyway at what he said. Those Jibberish classes had **so** been worth taking. Everyone else just stared on in confusement.

"VHAT?!" Dracula exclaimed, a look of disbelief and confusion on his face.

"Um...he said, uh, 'Ta-ta for now, friends!' And so do I. So long!" I laughed even harder and fell off of my chair again as the two departed, knowing full well that that was most certainly _not _what Crunch had said. Meanwhile, Dracula was giving instructions to Wolfgang.

"Make sure zhat those two goons take off alright," he said. "My castle is already falling apart enough vithout any help from the Hunch Bunch." And so the butler left the room, waving at me discreetly as he left. Dracula turned his attention back to the rest of the group and me, as we waited patiently for what he would say next.

"I believe zhat zhis meeting iz concluded," he drawled, as he turned his gaze on me. "Seeing as zhe problem iz being resolved as ve speak. So I bid zhe rest of you a good morning's sleep, and a farewell to you, Volfy. I hope zhat you enjoy your 'temporary retirement'." And as the screen flickered off, he laughed, and the rest of the monsters did too, leaving me with the image of two coal-black eyes and a pair of blood-stained fangs imprinted in my mind, and the laughter of some of the most notorious monsters in the world still ringing in my ears.

I rose from my seat as I slipped on my shoes, grabbing my drink off of the table as I exited the conference room, turning down the long and twisting hallway until I found myself back in the casino, the sound of dinging slot machines echoing in the distance. An idea was forming in my head, and I smiled. Dracula may be able to deal with one or two werewolves at a time, but what I had in mind was much more evil, and, hopefully, much more distracting away from the young racer that was soon to exist. I headed towards the phones and dialed a well known number, waiting for the person to pick up.

Luckily she did. "Hello?"

"Hi Carla," I said, still gloating over my evil plot.

"Wolfy! Oh my god, it's been ages! What's up? Aren't you supposed to be preparing for the race?"

"Nope, I retired--well, temporarily anyways--and got a back-up lined up to take my place for my stor--for the rally."

"Oh wow, really? Who is it?"

"Oh, just someone you like to stalk sometimes," I said nonchalantly. "I believe his name was Shaggy Rogers?" I pulled away as she squealed excitedly. Damn, this werewolf had NO respect for her elders' tender ears.

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!" Carla screamed. "He's gonna be a WEREWOLF!? This means that I can ask him out, being one myself! YAY! Oh my god, I LOVE you right now for telling me! But I love him more! OOOOH!!"

"Okay, okay, take it easy girl," I said, as I tried to regain some of my hearing back. "Now listen. We want him to win this race, right?"

"Uh, well, YEAH!"

"Okay then. We're gonna need all the support for him that we can get, okay? So that means--"

"--you want me to call all of the werebeings that I know to get them to go to the Road Rally?"

"Girl, you read my mind. So can you do it?" I held my breath momentarily, while holding the phone as far away from my ears as I could possibly get them. Luckily I didn't have to wait long.

"OF COURSE!!" Carla screamed, and I winced. "Why WOULDN'T I do this? In the meantime I need to book some vacation time for this. Are you gonna go?"

"And miss watching Dracky turn into a living popping blood vessel? Of course not!"

"Okay then. I'll go make some calls. See you there! Oh, and from now on, call me Sharla, since I'm gonna be in my werewolf form instead of my typical boring human one. Kay?"

"Alright. I owe you one Carla."

"Sharla," she corrected. "And there's nothing TO owe. Shaggy Rogers is going to be there. What more can I ask for?" I smiled at her enthusiasm.

"Okay then. Thanks a bundle for this. See you there!"

"Kay. See ya!" And Carla--er, Sharla--hung up the phone. I sighed, pleased with the work I had accomplished that evening. And boy oh boy, was that fussy wussy vampire in for a surprise! Seeing as he would have to house an entire platoon of werebeings and werewolves of all shapes and sizes. That would wear him thinner then a piece of professionally sliced ham at the morning buffet at brunch.

And it was then that I realized just how worn out I was from that dreadfully long, albeit amusing, conversation. So, instead of heading over to the roulette tables like I had intended to do earlier after all of this was over, I headed upstairs to shower and change for my act as the late-night lounge singer here at the Screams and Scares Casino and Suites, a horror-themed resort where I currently worked and lived, which was surprisingly popular here in Las Vegas. Probably because so many of the gamblers were actually ghouls and other monsters here on holiday, masquerading as humans, of course. Many of the real humans who visited and worked here, such as Melanie the waitress and Paolo, just thought that many of the people had these weird little quirks that were otherwise perfectly harmless, if occasionally frightening at times.

As I entered my hotel suite, I saw my Romanian werewolf sweetheart Viktor look up from the bed, before rising to give me a long and loving kiss, his burning skin sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "How was the talking with the person?" His English wasn't so good, but I found it rather endearing myself.

"It was long, but okay. Right now, though, I have to get ready for my act with a nice long shower. Kay?"

"I am understanding, yes." I gave him a peck on the check. He was so sweet. And so handsome too.

"I'll be out in a minute," I said, before I walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind me, as I didn't need any distractions. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I hoped that this Shaggy kid would be okay. And hopefully his friends would help too. And hopefully, well...hopefully, the plot would go as planned. Otherwise, both he, his friends, and I were royally screwed.

The laughter replayed itself in my head, as I began to gather my shampoo and soap and other such cleaning products. This had better work.

And as I prepared for a long and soothing shower, the BatCopter, a long, helicopter-esque creation with monstrous batwings that ran on water and moonlight, which were always in abundance at the castle, rose slowly into the air, and glided swiftly and silently in the night, as it left its home for that of another, more innocent being. A vampire of vastly evil proportions laid down in his king-sized coffin with his mindless mistress as the sun began to edge closer into the sky, and the other monsters of his domain soon too lay sleeping in the cold and drafty walls of Castle Dracula.

And a young, rather scruffy man lay sleeping in his own bed, as did his friends, with not a worry in the world, and not a clue as to the misfortunes that were rushing steadily towards them from the misty mountains that was Transylvania.

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**YAY! My second chapter finished! Oh, I am so proud of myself! And I'm sorry about the length. I promise that this will be the longest chapter that you shall probably read. But now I will start on the third one. Hope to finish it soon. Please Review! Toodles!  
-Wolfy!- **


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